The siren closest by stopped. Jac could feel his heart still pounding hard, but at least the constriction eased a bit.

He had to get rid of the bloodied bag with the gun. Perhaps a restaurant row somewhere with bins out back in an alley? Like the street he was on now.

He scanned frantically back and forth as he cleared the corner, saw what looked like a service alley ten yards to the right, and darted towards it. He paused, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to its darkness and shadows. A couple of small bins halfway down, then a delivery truck parked in tight behind. There might be some larger bins beyond it, but Jac couldn’t tell from where he was. He ran towards the bins and the truck.

But what Jac hadn’t noticed as he was surveying the alley was the patrol car gliding silently along behind him. They’d seen him run towards the alley, but perhaps wouldn’t have paid him too much attention if he hadn’t started running again.

They stopped by its entrance, and the officer in the passenger seat shone his torchlight down, calling out as its beam hit Jac’s back.

‘Hey… hey, there!’

Jac turned sharply, his shock slow to register because it took him a second, squinting against the glare, to make out the police car and patrolman shouting from its window. But he could tell from the look on the patrolman’s face that the image he cut — blood on his shirt, the bloodied bag in his hand — hit home quicker. He turned and ran.

‘Hold it! Stop!’

Jac glanced back as the shout came. But the patrolman hadn’t got out of the car and didn’t have his gun aimed through the window. And, by then, Jac prayed that he was too far away for a decent shot.

The patrol car swung back, turning, its headlamps bathing the alley for a moment; then, as if deciding that it might be too tight a squeeze past the delivery truck, it pulled off again with a screech of tyres, siren winding up.

Jac knew that they were going to try and race him around the block, head him off, and he put on an extra spurt, his chest aching now with the effort, legs weakening.

Again, the siren seemed to echo and spin around him, so he couldn’t tell whether they were still behind him in the parallel street, running alongside, or just ahead.

He burst out of the alley at full pelt, eyes darting for the next alley on the opposite side: Thirty yards along. He cut across at an angle after eight strides, just in front of a green Dodge Neon which was forced to brake sharply, and got to the mouth of the alley as the police car made the turn, its siren spilling onto the street — Jac unsure whether they’d seen him take the alley or not.

The siren closer, closer, filling all of Jac’s senses above his pounding heart and ragged breath.

The police car slowing, the patrolmen inside craning their necks — and then Jac had his answer as it screeched and swung in after him, its headlamps washing the walls and fencing of the narrow alley.

But he was only ten yards from its end by then, and it had to slow halfway down to negotiate past some bins and a badly parked motorbike.

Jac heard a faint bang behind him, sounded like one of the bins falling, but he’d turned off by then, frantically scanning for the next alley — twelve yards away on the opposite side — though as he took his first strides towards it, he had second thoughts: too obvious, just where they’d expect him to go.

He changed tack to the alley twenty-five yards along on the same side, effectively doubling back on himself, hoping and praying that he made it to the turn before they hit the street and saw him.

They flew out with their spinning siren scream just as he made the turn, Jac again unsure whether they’d seen him… a silent prayer into the night air as he listened to the direction of their siren above his pounding step.

And as he heard the siren fade slightly, heading away from him, his gasping breath fell heavier with an added burst of relief.

His step eased a fraction at the same time, unsure what to do next. He should put more distance between himself and the siren, but already he felt exhausted, his legs like jelly, the ache in his chest so heavy that he felt as if a knife had been plunged into it. And the more he ran on with the bloodied bag in his hand, the more attention he drew, perhaps running into another squad car… he hadto get rid of it before he went much further.

The sound of the siren had paused, not moving away any more, as if they were edging down the alley opposite very slowly, or perhaps they’d already stopped, realizing he wasn’t there, and were about to head back.

Jac picked up pace again, and it was then that he noticed the boarding sheet to one side, a rusted chain looped through a hole in it, and the gap between it and the next seven-foot-high boarding sheet. Could he squeeze through it?

The siren. Same distance away or moving closer? He had to decide quickly.

The gap appeared too narrow, but the board looked like it might have some give. And as Jac became surer that the siren was moving closer again, he barged against it, pressing hard.

He got a shoulder and part of one thigh through, but couldn’t get further. He pushed again, got a few more inches in, but not enough. Closer. If he didn’t hurry, he’d still be there, stuck half-in, half-out, as the squad car rolled by the alley.

With a heavy, grunting shove, he finally felt something give, the chain biting deeper into the rotting board, and he slipped through.

Long weeds and grass. Rubbish strewn between. Closer. Jac pushed the board back so that it was adjacent with the adjoining board, didn’t look like there’d ever been a gap, and eased out his breath. A dark, derelict building seven yards behind, an old warehouse or shop. Looked like it had been sealed off for development, then abandoned.

The siren stopped then, but a moment later there was the sound of radio static on the night air. If they weren’t actually by the entrance of the alley, then they were very close. Jac held his breath.

The sound of another siren. Moving closer, louder. It cut off when it was only half a block away, then seconds later there was the sound of another engine idling and more radio static on the air, voices conferring.

Jac closed his eyes. Oh God. They’d called in support to close the net.

The voices more urgent for a moment, one of them calling out, ‘Yeah, yeah… sure.’ Then a car door closing and an engine revving stronger. Jac not sure at first what it all meant, until he saw headlamp lights point up the alley, then the sound of the patrol-car engine edging closer, echoing slightly as it bounced off the sides of the narrow alley.

It was moving slowly, ever so slowly, and Jac became aware of another light at that moment, shifting back and forth along each side: the patrolman obviously hanging his torch out the window, every inch of the alley being scoured and checked.

Jac sucked in his breath as they came closer — only six or seven yards away now — but in that instant he also became aware of movement and rustling in the grass, something brushing against one leg. His first thought, with all the rubbish around, was rats, but he daren’t move. His whole body in that instant frozen, breath held, swallowing back even to try and calm the pounding of his heart in case they heard it as they edged alongside.

The rustling moved away from his leg, but Jac was worried that even that faint sound might be heard by them, and they’d stop to investigate — his eyes wide as the torchlight hit the board at his side. It moved gradually away in a steady sweep, then suddenly returned, lingering longer this time.

The sound of the engine idling and the radio static now seemed deafeningly loud, as if Jac was actually inside the car with them, and the torch-beam stayed on the boarding for a full eight seconds — though to Jac it felt far longer — before finally shifting.